


Dinner in the Candlelight

by whoaswetha



Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Dinner, Birthday Sex, F/M, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:10:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoaswetha/pseuds/whoaswetha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin Crieff really doesn't purposefully miss out on dates. It's not his fault! It's just...well...okay it is his fault. But he doesn't mean it. However, this is one time too many for Molly (for God's sake, the man missed her birthday dinner!) and to say she is furious is a huge understatement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner in the Candlelight

**Author's Note:**

> The idea popped up into my head and I simply couldn't resist.

Their apartment is always a mess. What with all the crazy work hours and the immense amount of takeout they consume, little time is left to straighten things properly. Stacks of bills and junk mail clutter their coffee table, dirty blankets and throw pills fill up Molly’s favorite black leather couch (with scratches all over it, no thanks to Toby) from the limited time they spend cuddling in front of a rented DVD (Martin usually falls asleep. He can’t help it; he’s so sleep deprived from all sorts of crummy jobs that Carolyn makes him do on a regular basis. This is the price he has to pay, for taking GERTI away for a week for Christmas). But what with Molly’s odd hours, and Martin’s even _odder_ hours, those DVD nights are rare.

Martin Crieff stares at the surrounding mess and wonders how on earth two completely responsible adults could let their apartment get into such a state. It was a must that he cleaned the apartment. Two nights ago, Martin missed his date for Molly’s birthday (on the account that he got held back at customs. The flowers he was bringing back for Molly from Cambodia weren’t strictly _legal._ ) and to say that she was furious was an understatement. She hardly spoke to him and made him sleep on the couch. She wore her best red dress, and the evidence of her tears made his hear hurt. He had never felt so guilty in his life, knowing that she had cried because of him. Each tear she shed in front of him was like a stab in his chest. It was her _birthday_ and it was meant to be special. Of course, Martin would muck it up. Since when didn’t he muck it up?

So, he resolved to make it up to her. This was a highly opportune time, since Molly was working a twelve hour shift. She woke him up by banging her way in the kitchen (obviously still angry) getting ready for work on a gloomy Saturday morning.

Martin set to work, cleaning the apartment, sorting their mail, doing laundry. It was dreadful. There was simply _so much_ they let get out of hand because they were so busy. And, he had to prepare a delectable dinner. It seemed only fitting, after all. 

The day passed by slowly, but it was used quite productively, leaving Martin pleased with himself. The apartment was spotless by the time the sun was setting and dinner was well on its way. He (surprisingly) didn’t burn the kitchen down _or_ injure himself in any way. Molly always joked that when Martin cooked a first aid kit should always be on site (that did wound his pride a little).

The clock seemed to tick faster than usual, stubbornly marching toward eight o’clock (when Molly would be due from work) and it was a miracle that he didn’t break anything in his haste to have everything ready by the time Molly came home. He lit candles that he found in the bathroom cabinet by Molly’s bubble bath mixture and took out a bottle of her favorite wine (Molly is a big wine drinker). Finally, he went to their room and changed into something more suitable.

As the clock neared eight, he grew more and more tense. This was the most romantic thing he had ever done and all sorts of things _that could go wrong_ ran through his mind. _What if Molly hated it? What if something went wrong? What if the food isn’t cooked fully? What if she’s still angry with me?What if she was too tired for all of this? What if what if what if_. The list seemed _endless._

As he heard Molly trudge up the steps to their tiny apartment, and her key jingle in the lock, he grew more tense than he could possible imagine. His hands shook and he bit his lip, unsure of how to act. _Casual? How do you act casual when you can barely stand still?_ The door opened, and Molly edged her way into the apartment, scanning the sparkling clean apartment, the dimmed lights, and the coffee table with the candles lit and a ‘table for two’ set up on the table which was once covered in bills, magazines, books, and the sort. Her eyes flew up to Martin and he could see genuine happiness residing peacefully on her face.

“You did this?” she squeaked.

“Of course. I…Molly look I’m really sorry about the other night…about your birthday. I know you’re angry with me and you have _absolutely every right_ to be because I mess everything up. Sometimes…sometimes I wonder why you still love me. I’m sorry I mess everything up, I swear I try not to do it on purpose! And this is…this hardly covers all of my stupid mistakes but this is the only way I know how to say sorry. I’m sorry, and I love you.”

As he spoke, Molly edged her way over to him, careful not to bump into the nicely set coffee table. When it was clear that he had finished his speech, she threw her arms around his neck and crushed her lips against his. As they moved in unison, she pushed her tongue in between his lips and intertwined her tongue with his. After a few moments of kissing she pulled away and rested her forehead against his, her fingers curled in his (growing) hair. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him. It was a natural reflex, one he couldn’t help.

“This is so lovely, Martin.” The way she spoke his name, almost reverently, caused him to hold on to her even more tightly. She placed her hands on both sides of his face and kissed him lightly. Finally, she let go, moving her hands down to her waist and prying his hands away from her, interlacing his fingers with hers.

“Let’s eat?” she asked, even more quietly, as if she was afraid of speaking too loudly.

His stomach growled and she giggled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

They settled down around their tiny glass coffee table. Toby took this as an invitation and jumped into Molly’s lap. She smiled and ran her hand through his bushy fur. Martin smiled and poured the both of them a healthy glass of wine. It was difficult to hide his nervousness. Thankfully, she hardly noticed his hands shaking.

“So….what are we going to eat today?”

Martin pulled the cover off of the heated dish. He had to admit, it looked pretty delicious.

“I made fettuccini alfredo with shrimp. And,” he retrieved a tray from underneath the coffee table and set it on a corner, while swiftly moving the candles aside. “I made garlic bread. I know Italian is your favorite so I did my best.”

Her eyes widened. She knew Martin could somewhat _cook_ but she never thought he would pay attention to her favorites. Molly kissed him on the cheek lightly and smiled brightly.

“Wow. Martin, this looks amazing.” She smiled as she cupped his cheek and smoothed the planes of his angular face with her thumb.

He served the fettuccini with a pair of tongs, only spilling the pasta once. She took a slice of garlic bread and offered it to him to eat. His brow furrowed as a slice of his own making was practically shoved underneath his chin, not quite understanding at first what she meant. As he looked up into those caring brown eyes, he understood and took a bite. This…this part of dinner never quite crossed his mind. He smiled and offered her a forkful of pasta. She pulled the pasta free only using her mouth and it was one of the most erotic things that Martin witnessed from her. He blushed, grateful for the dimmed lights.  

They built up an easy pattern of feeding one another and taking a sip wine between every bite. Martin felt loose-limbed, with all the wine in his belly.  He forgot the affect alcohol had on him and his demeanor. Molly once told him that under the influence of alcohol, he became a different person. Whether it was a good change or a bad change, one would have to judge that for themselves. With most of their plates empty, Molly shook her hair out of its work ponytail and sidled close to him. She smiled with all her teeth and kissed him profoundly, pulling at his tucked in shirt. She could feel him tense up underneath her fingers. Martin would never get used to physical affection. After spending so much of his life without it, physical affection was a commodity.

“You’re always so uptight.” She said with an unsuccessful yank. His shirt hardly budged. “Relax a little.” She yanked his shirt again, finally getting it loose. Molly pushed up the shirt and placed her hand on his flat stomach, splaying her fingers apart. He bent down and kissed her profusely and sweetly, tilting her head back and kissing down her jaw and her neck. His hair tickled the underside of her jaw but he was past caring. She moaned, the sound of it, the pure eroticism of it, imprinted in his mind. She pushed him away lightly and undid her blouse, careful not to tear it. Martin helped her too. He was awfully impatient to taste her again, to feel her. He couldn't wait to get his hands on her.

 _God,_ he thinks, _I’ve missed this._

The both of them had been far too busy for even _sex._ The last time they’d done _anything_ like this was well over a month ago.

She stripped off her shirt and got up and wriggled out of her pants, kicking them aside. It felt almost as if they were coming home to one another.

 _Might as well_ , she thought to herself. There was no point in wasting time.

The moment Molly settled back down on the ground, Martin tilted her head toward his and captured her mouth in a rough, searing kiss.

Molly straddled him, kissing his jawline and neck while he explored her back with his roving hands, trying to find that bloody clasp. His fingers, with the deftness of a sure-footed pilot, pulled apart the clasp. She pushed the straps off her shoulders, and pulled the cups away, tossing the bra somewhere behind her. Before he could so much as touch her breasts she got off his lap and he made a sound of annoyance.

“Bedroom?” she asked.

_Bedroom…and all the possibilities tied alongside it._

_Yes. Bedroom is a quite good idea,_ Martin agreed silently. He nodded and she pulled him up, leaving behind the foray of dirty dishes and most of Molly’s clothing. She fumbled with his shirt, her excitement taking away the deftness of her fingers. He helped her, and when the last button sprang loose, he slid it off. She was the same way with his pants, touching the zipper and pulling it down. She felt _him_ through the material and he grew as excited as a teenaged boy. Her pebbled nipples brushed against his bare chest and he wordlessly groaned. Molly pulled his pants down and he stepped out of them for her, being clothed in nothing but his cotton briefs. He kissed her collarbone and neck, with his hands roving on her back and her curves, the swell of her arse.

She hooked her fingers in the waistband of his practical cotton briefs and tugged on them until they finally fell free. Molly licked her lips and held him between her fingers. It had been so long, _too_ long and she missed it. He gulped and stared at her, wondering where she would take this next. A part of him wanted to wrench her hand away and purely rut against her, but with passing time that part grew smaller and smaller, as his curiosity increased. She gave him a long stroke and closed the distance between their lips with a brief but passionate kiss. His hand dipped between her legs and pushed aside the cotton material of her practical knickers, reaching insistently for her sex. She mewled under his lips and kissed him more urgently while placing her fingers over his (which had grown still) and swirling them like she wanted him to. She moved his hand away and pushed her knickers down, leaving them in a heap on the floor among her other clothes. This was all so new and yet so familiar at the same time. They most definitely are quite romantically and sexually involved, but this was perhaps the most intimate of their encounters. It was hard and fast, but also languid and slow, as if they were devouring each other as one would a fine wine. She walked backward, with all intents to go to their bedroom and Martin followed without a single word of complaint. If they stayed in the living room, it could very much end up into a disaster. With his luck, he'd probably end up accidentally burning himself on the ridiculous amount of candles he put to "stimulate a romantic mood" and it was quite obvious that it worked.

He reached behind her and opened the door to their tiny bedroom, with the sheets as messy as they were from this morning. Not that either of them minded. They could hardly be arsed to fix their bed when they didn't even have time for a good breakfast. He tipped her back and she landed on the bed with a little gasp. Martin paused, fully appreciating his girlfriends’ nakedness and vulnerability, the simple way she reached up for him. It was quite startling how much this sort of thing boosted his confidence, seeing the woman he loved pine for him, his touch, and his affection. A part of him wanted to make this fast, to have those wonderful sounds she made during their lovemaking fucked right out of her, but this...this was for her. She liked it slower and more languid. It was far more romantic and intimate, to share and cherish their bodies together. He could see the lust in her face, her kiss dark lips, already plump from arousal and biting it in impatience. She bit it now, waiting for him to fully have his look, as she surveyed him too, committing his form to memory. 

Molly licked her lips again and settled herself on the copious amount of pillows on their bed. Martin swallowed and joined her, bracing his weight on his arms which were placed on her sides. She reached up and dragged his head to her and kissed him again. He smiled against the kiss and shifted all of his weight to his right side, as his left hand moving down, his wandering digits covering the swell of her breast and pinching her nipple lightly. Her breath hitched, her right hand tightening its hold on his ginger hair while her left strayed down and stroked his penis. She gripped it in her hand, memorizing the feel of it. She waited to see what he would do next. He pried her hand away from his throbbing scalp (Molly _loved_ to use his hair as a hold during sex. It was mainly why he kept it longer than usual.)He exhaled and also pulled her other hand away from his cock.

“Molly, please. Just...let me…” She nodded, understanding what he meant. Tears were brought to her eyes from this display of affection. Martin and her…they had been so busy from work for such a long time, she missed _this,_ she missed _him_. She laid back and gave him what he wanted.

 Martin moved his head down, his lips circling around her pebbled nipple and worrying it gently between his teeth. The sound she made was simply exquisite, as she pushed up against him, begging for more contact. He smiled against her breast and nipped lightly at the underside before lavishing attention to her other breast. Slowly he kissed his way down, frowning at her visible ribs (Molly was quite fond of skipping meals during work or when she was angry), nuzzling against her stomach, his curls tickling her. His hands were placed firmly on her hips, holding her in place. By then, her hands were grasping on to the pillows, catching on herself, his hair. She was breathing heavily, moaning when his lips made contact with her skin. His own pleasure curled insistently at the base of his stomach and he was so hard it was almost painful. It weakened his resolve to take this slow. He was just about to brush his lips against her sex, to fully taste her lust when she stopped him. 

"Please, Martin..." In those two words there was a question, a request, and desperation mixed together. She braced her hand on his shoulder, pushing him away and staring at him, hoping to convey her need with a piercing gaze rather than words. 

A muscle twitched in his jaw. He gulped and nodded, moving up to his first position on their bed. Her hand brushed between them, taking him in hand and nudging him at her entrance. She tilted her hips up and curled her toes bracing herself. He slid into her with a groan, sighing as he filled her to the hilt. Slowly, they started up a rhythm. It was fast and slow, desperate but peaceful. His lips caught hers and he bit her lower lip lightly. They both gasped for each other, slowly mounting up speed, their hands touching one another for the pure joy of human touch. She slid her palms along his shoulders and ran her hands through his hair. Her fascination with his hair during sex was limitless. He groaned into her mouth, as she explored his body rapidly with her hands, and lips. Of course it was rather limited exploration but anything was better than nothing. She locked her legs around him, her ankles and the heels of her feet digging into his arse. He moaned again and she gasped with him as he hit a good spot. Finally he reached a hand between them to stroke her engorged clit, her eyes almost rolled into the back of her head. She panted her pleasure and moaned right into his ear.

"Soon" Martin grunted, and she nodded against him, her eyes shut so she could experience and feel him more fully. She pumped into him and they came together (a first) shuddering but finally falling still. He collapsed on her, and she wrapped her arms around him as he pressed a kiss to her collarbone and moved so he wasn't in her anymore. The both of them bathed in the soup of hormones and the aftermath of their pleasure. The only sound in their apartment was the sound of them breathing. 

"That was..." Molly began, unsure of how to finish the sentence. What could word could sum up what that was? 

Martin nodded. "I know." He rolled over so he wasn't on top of her anymore and she smiled, moving so they both were on their respective sides of the bed. She curled up next to him and whispered sleepily,

“I love you.”

He smiled and pressed a tired kiss to her sweaty hair

“I love you too.”

* * *

 

The next morning, when Molly woke up, the first thing she noticed was how _sore_ she was. It was a good sore though. The small of her back, her inner thighs, and her scalp ached from pulling at her hair so much. She felt as if she was stretched, strung out, and left to dry. It was good because she knew why she felt that way, and she reveled in it. The daylight streamed through their partially open

Martin stirred beside her. He was always an early riser (unless they’d been up doing _stuff_ ).

“Morning.” He whispered, turning around to face her. She smiled at him, and she leaned over to kiss his cheek.

“Morning.” She slides off the bed and searches for a robe.

“Where are you going?” Martin asks, the sleep still evident in his voice.

“Shower. Joining me?” Molly turned around to look at him. He stared at her and gulped, swiped the blankets away from his body.

Molly and Martin climbed into the shower together, letting the showerhead soak both of them. Martin’s hair turned from ginger to a brown. Their shower was nowhere near efficient. Their hands wandered until they gave up all pretense of taking a shower. Martin grabbed her leg and dipped her back to kiss her, leaving her completely breathless (he was surprised that it went so well, he was half expecting her to bump into the shower wall).

Molly pushed him away and laughed.

“Martin, really, I love this but we _do_ have to shower.”

Martin frowned.

“We’ve got time…right? You’re not working today?” His heart seized up for a second. It was all going so well…

She smiled and ran her hand through his hair.

“We’ve got all the time in the world.” 


End file.
